reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: tenderness


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if only. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

every day now the mourning dove shows up. all by itself, it sits on the wire. not cooing or preening at all, it appears to be waiting, waiting.

something about this lone dove tugs at me every time i witness its silent vigil. it feels as if it has lost its life partner and its perch – high above the backyards it can see – gives it a place from which to search or from which to be quiet and pine. though i know that it could be acting as a sentinel for a nest or simply resting with an eye to predators, there is something else i can feel.

i’ve whispered up to this mourning dove – that i see it, that i am privy to its vigil and that i honor its steadfastness, its constancy. i tell it that i am witness to what seems like its sadness. i hardly know if it helps – or if the dove can hear me or understand me. but being here and watching and aware, it feels like i am honoring its story.

it is not unlike that which we could do for each other. all each others, regardless. if only we were to sit on metaphoric high wires quietly and listen to each other, honor each others’ stories, be witness to joy or pain, hold one another tenderly. if only.

“i’m not just a chapter, i’m not pretty verse. i wanna be the thread that goes forward and reverse in your life, in your life. i wanna be written in your life.” (written in your life – from the album ‘as sure as the sun‘ – © 2002 kerri sherwood)

*****

written in your life © 2002 kerri sherwood

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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those someones. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” (langston hughes)

we wandered arm in arm around the fairgrounds, one antique booth to the next. it was good to be outside on this day, a little cooler than the surprisingly hot day before. we weren’t looking for anything, really. just idea-gathering, noting how people were re-purposing items, laughing over things folks were selling as antiques that we still use every day.

a big armoire got our attention and we walked over to it. the young vendor gave us a few minutes with it before he approached.

within minutes of our first question about the armoire, he had begun telling us of the life-struggle he was in, seemingly desperate to share it, to voice it, to maybe bring a different kind of energy to it.

we listened. i was aware we were both getting uncomfortable a couple minutes in, but both of us could also see he needed to tell his story. and so we listened.

when he was done – except for staccato-ing out another detail here or there – we talked about how life will go on, how light will return, how everything will be ok. he became less intense then and smiled, saying he was already better off since the initial traumatic moments.

this young man has sat on our hearts since then. and so has the lesson we were reminded of – to listen.

in those moments we have all had – when we are broken-winged birds – we have sometimes had someone, somewhere, who has given us hope. someone who has lifted us. someone who gives us perspective. someone who nudges us to remember our own value. someone who reminds us of joy. and of dreams.

someone who tenderly repaired our wings so that we could fly.

we are both so grateful for those someones.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this WEDNESDAY

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seeds. [two artists tuesday]

and the beautiful flower – with tiny white petals – its seeds were ripening. slowly, it began to wrap its inflorescence in, protecting. and the tiny bird’s-nest-shape remained, wound around, parenting, holding dear until the dried seeds, ready, release and go off into the world.

nature repeats itself. its stories – from one species to the next, one genus to the next – seem inordinately similar.

we – now adults – have left our own green-bird’s-nest years ago. it was a haven of sorts, but only for a time, as we grew. and then, suddenly, we are out and about in the world, riding the jet stream, surfing the tide, subjected to scorching sun and bitter cold. we trust the world to carry us safely. we are innocent seeds.

we learn – in different stages of our growth – that though we are held in unconditional love by some, there are others who will not tend us gently. we begin to discern the difference. we choose those who support us, whose inflorescent arms wrap us lightly, tenderly. we are buoyed, encouraged, picked up, bolstered by these arms. the others – the ones who aim to dilute, push down, disempower – they are loud voices – righteous and suffocating and dispiriting.

but – amidst either – we are still seeds as we continue on, other seeds also on this way.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – once held gently and released – always with the knowledge that there are nurturing tiny and big blossoms out there, sharing the universe with us.

and we try to remember to be as queen anne’s lace – to, similarly, hold gently and release – with empathy our north star as we float and soar, celebrating every single other seed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

(composers pat alger and ralph murphy)

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